Hope Leslie

By Catharine Maria Sedgwick

“Hope Leslie” is a 1827 novel by American novelist Catharine Sedgwick. Unusually progressive for the time it was published, Sedgwick’s novel contains strong feminist overtones and notions of justice towards Native Americans. In this, her third novel, Sedgwick recounts a dramatic conflict between colonists, Native Americans and the British Empire. A fascinating novel that earned its author a large readership and healthy reputation and is still an interesting read today. Other notable works by this author include: “A New England Tale” (1822), “The Linwoods” (1835), and “Home” (1835). Many vintage books such as this are increasingly scarce and expensive. It is with this in mind that we are republishing this volume now in an affordable, modern, high-quality edition complete with a specially-commissioned new biography of the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Read Books Ltd.
• Release date: Mar 25, 2011
• ISBN: 9781446548516

Book preview

CHAPTER I.

"Those well scene natives in grave Nature’s hests,

All close designs conceal in their deep brests."

MORRELL.

It would be highly improper any longer to keep our readers in ignorance of the cause of our heroine’s apparent aberration from the line of strict propriety. After her conversation with Everell, in which we must infer, from its effect on his mind, that she manifested less art than zeal in her friend’s cause, she was retiring to her own apartment, when, on passing through the hall, she saw an Indian woman standing there, requesting the servant who had admitted her to ask the young ladies of the house if they would look at some rare moccasins.

Miss Leslie was arrested by the uncommon sweetness of the stranger’s voice; and fixing her eye on her, she was struck with the singular dignity and grace of her demeanour—a certain air indicating an inborn royalty of soul, that even the ugly envelope of a blanket did not conceal."

The stranger seemed equally interested in Miss Leslie’s appearance; and, fixing her eye intently on her, Pray try my moccasins, lady, she said, earnestly.

Oh, certainly; I should of all things like to buy a pair of you, said Hope; and, advancing, she was taking them from her shoulder, over which they were slung, when she, ascertaining by a quick glance that the servant had disappeared, gently repressed Miss Leslie’s hand, saying at the same time, Tell me thy name, lady.

My name! Hope Leslie. But who art thou? Hope asked in return, in a voice rendered almost inarticulate by the thought that flashed into her mind.

The stranger cast down her eyes, and for half an instant hesitated; then looking apprehensively around, she said, in low, distinct accents, Hope Leslie, I am Magawisca.

Magawisca! echoed Hope. Oh, Everell! and she sprang towards the parlour door to summon Everell.

Silence! stay, cried Magawisca, with a vehement gesture, and at the same time turning to escape should Hope prosecute her intention.

Hope perceived this, and again approached her. It cannot, then, be Magawisca, she said; and she trembled as she spoke with doubts, hopes, and fears.

Magawisca might have at once identified herself by opening her blanket and disclosing her person; but that she did not, no one will wonder who knows that a savage feels more even than ordinary sensibility at personal deformity. She took from her bosom a necklace of hair and gold entwined together. Dost thou know this? she asked. Is it not like that thou wearest?

Hope grasped it, pressed it to her lips, and answered by exclaiming passionately, My sister! my sister!

"Yes, it is a token from thy sister. Listen to me, Hope Leslie: my time is brief; I may not stay here another moment; but come to me this evening at nine o’clock, at the burial-place, a little beyond the clump of pines, and I will give thee tidings of thy sister: keep what I say in thine own bosom; tell no one thou hast seen me; come alone, and fear not."

Oh, I have no fear, exclaimed Hope, vehemently; but tell me—tell me!

Magawisca put her finger on her lips in token of silence, for at this instant the door was again opened, not by the servant who had before appeared, but by Jennet. Magawisca instantly recognised her, and turned as if in the act of departing.

Time had, indeed, wrought little change on Jennet, save imparting a shriller squeak to her doleful voice, and a keener edge to her sharp features. Madam Winthrop, she said, is engaged now, but says you may call some other time with your moccasins; and I would advise you to let it be any other than the fag-end of a Saturday—a wrong season for temporalities.

While Jennet was uttering this superfluous counsel, Hope sprang off the steps after Magawisca, anxious for some farther light on her dawning expectations.

Stay, oh stay, she said, one moment, and let me try your moccasins.

At the same instant Mrs. Grafton appeared from the back parlour, evidently in a great flurry. Here, you Indian woman, she screamed, let me see your Moccasins.

Thus beset, Magawisca was constrained to retrace her steps, and confront the danger of discovery. She drew her blanket closer over her head and face, and reascending the steps, threw her moccasins on the floor, and cautiously averted her face from the light. It was too evident to her that Jennet had some glimmering recollections; for, while she affected to busy herself with the moccasins, she turned her inquisitorial gray eyes towards her with a look of sharp scrutiny. Once Magnwisca, with a movement of involuntary disdain, returned her glance. Jennet dropped the moccasins as suddenly as if she had received a blow, hemmed as if she were choking, and put her hand on the knob of the parlour door.

Oh, thought Magawisca, I am lost! But Jennet, confused by her misty recollections, relinquished her purpose, whatever it was, and returned to the examination of the moccasins. In the mean while, Hope stood behind her aunt and Jennet, her hands clasped, and her beautiful eyes bent on Magawisca with a supplicating inquiry.

Mrs. Grafton, as usual, was intent on her traffic. It was odd enough of Madam Winthrop, she said, not to let me know these moccasins were here; she knew I wanted them—at least she must know I might want them; and if I don’t want them, that’s nothing to the purpose. I like to look at everything that’s going. It is a diversion to the mind. A neat article, she continued; I should like you to have a pair, Hope; Sir Philip said, yesterday, they gave a trig look to a pretty foot and ankle. How much does she ask for then?

I do not know, replied Hope.

Do not know! that’s peculiar of you, Hope Leslie; you never inquire the price of anything. I dare say Tawney expects enough for them to buy all the glass beads in Boston. Hey, Tawney?

Mrs. Grafton now, for the first time, turned from the articles to their possessor: she was struck with an air of graceful haughtiness in her demeanour, strongly contrasting with the submissive, dejected deportment of the natives whom she was in the habit of seeing; and dropping the moccasins and turning to Hope, she whispered, Best buy a pair, dearie—by all means buy a pair—pay her anything she asks—best keep peace with them: ‘never affront dogs nor Indians.’

Hope wanted no urging; but, anxious to get rid of the witnesses that embarrassed her, and quick of invention, she directed Jennet to go for her purse, which she would find in a certain basket, or drawer, or somewhere else; and reminded her aunt that she had promised to call in at Mrs. Cotton’s on her way to lecture, to look at her hyacinths, and that she had no time to lose.

Jennet obeyed, and Mrs. Grafton said, That’s true, and it’s thoughtful of you to think of it, Hope; but, she added, lowering her voice, I would not like to leave you alone, so I’ll just open the parlour door.

Before Hope could intercept her, she set the door ajar, and through the aperture Magawisca had a perfect view of Everell, who was sitting musing in the window-seat. An involuntary exclamation burst from her lips; and then, shuddering at this exposure of her feelings, she hastily gathered together the moccasins that were strewn over the floor, dropped a pair at Hope’s feet, and darted away.

Hope had heard the exclamation and understood it. Mrs. Grafton heard it without understanding it, and followed Magawisca to the door, calling after her, Do stay and take a little something; Madam Winthrop has always a bone to give away. Ah! you might as well call after the wind; she has already turned the corner. Heaven send she may not bear malice against us! What do you think, Hope? Mrs. Grafton turned to appeal to her niece; but she, foreseeing endless interrogatories, had made good her retreat, and escaped to her own apartment.

Jennet, however, came to the good lady’s relief; listened to all her conjectures and apprehensions, and reciprocated her own.

Jennet could not say what it was in the woman, but she had the strangest feeling all the time she was there—a mysterious beating of her heart that she could not account for; as to her disappearing so suddenly, that she did not think much of; the foresters were always impatient to get to their haunts; they were like the wild ass, that the Scripture saith scorneth the multitude of a city.

But we leave Mrs. Grafton and Jennet to their unedifying conference, to fellow our heroine to the privacy of her own apartment. There, in the first rush of her newly-awakened feelings, till then repressed, she wept like a child, and repeated again and again, Oh, my sister! my sister! Her mind was in a tumult; she knew not what to believe—what to expect—what to hope.

But, accustomed to diffuse over every anticipation the sunny hue of her own happy temperament, she flattered herself that she would even that night meet her sister; that she would be forever restored to her; that the chord severed by the cruel disaster at Bethel would be rebound about their hearts. She had but a brief space to compose herself, and that was passed in fervent supplications for the blessing of God upon her hopes. She must go to the lecture, and after that trust to her ingenuity to escape to the rendezvous. The thought of danger or exposure never entered her mind, for she was not addicted to fear; and, as she reflected on the voice and deportment of the stranger, she was convinced she could be no other than Magawisca, the heroine of Everell’s imagination, whom he had taught her to believe was one of those who,

"Without arte’s bright lamp, by nature’s eye,

Keep just promise, and love equitie."

Almost as impatient to go to the lecture as she was afterward to escape from it (we trust our readers have absolved her for her apparent indecorum in the sanctuary), she had tied and untied her hat twenty times before she heard the ringing of the bell for the assembling of the congregation. She refused, as has been seen, the escort of Everell, for she dared not expose to him emotions which she could not explain.

After the various detentions which have been already detailed, she arrived at the appointed rendezvous, and there saw Magawisca, and Magawisca alone, kneeling before an upright stake planted at one end of a grave. She appeared occupied in delineating a figure on the stake with a small implement she held in her hand, which she dipped in a shell placed on the ground beside her.

Hope paused with a mingled feeing of disappointment and awe; disappointment that her sister was not there, and awe inspired by the solemnity of the scene before her: the spirit-stirring figure of Magawisca, the duty she was performing, the flickering light, the monumental stones, and the dark shadows that swept over them as the breeze bowed the tall pines. She drew her mantle, that fluttered in the breeze, close around her, and almost suppressed her breath, that she might not disturb what she believed to be an act of filial devotion.

Magiwisca was not unconscious of Miss Leslie’s approach, but she deemed the office in which she was engaged too sacred to be interrupted. She accompanied the movement of her hand with a low chant in her native tongue; and so sweet and varied were the tones of her voice, that it seemed to Hope they might have been breathed by an invisible spirit.

When she had finished her work, she leaned her head for a moment against the stake, and then rose and turned to Miss Leslie; a moonbeam shot across her face; it was wet with tears, but she spoke in a tranquil voice. You have come—and alone? she said, casting a searching glance around her.

I promised to come alone, replied Hope.

Yes, and I trusted you; and I will trust you farther, for the good deed you did Nelema.

Nelema, then, lived to reach you.

She did; wasted, faint, and dying, she crawled into my father’s wigwam. She had but scant time and short breath; with that she cursed your race, and blessed you, Hope Leslie; her day was ended; the hand of death pressed her throat, and even then she made me swear to perform her promise to you.

And you will, Magawisca, cried Hope, impetuously, you will give me back my sister?

Nay, that she never promised—that I cannot do. I cannot send back the bird that has mated, to its parent nest—the stream that has mingled with other waters, to its fountain.

Oh, do not speak to me in these dark sayings, replied Hope, her smooth brow contracting with impatience and apprehension, and her hurried manner and convulsed countenance contrasting strongly with the calmness of Magawisca; what is it you mean? Where is my sister?

She is safe—she is near to you—and you shall see her, Hope Leslie.

But when—and where, Magawisca? Oh, if I could once clasp her in my arms, she never should leave me—she never should be torn from me again.

Those arms, said Magawisca, with a faint smile, could no more retain thy sister than a spider’s web. The lily of the Maqua’s valley will never again make the English garden sweet.

Speak plainer to me, cried Hope, in a voice of entreaty that could not be resisted. Is my sister— she paused, for her quivering lips could not pronounce the words that rose to them.

Magawisca understood her, and replied. Yes, Hope Leslie, thy sister is married to Oneco.

God forbid! exclaimed Hope, shuddering as if a knife had been plunged in her bosom. My sister married to an Indian!

Am Indian! exclaimed Magawisca, recoiling with a look of proud contempt, that showed she reciprocated with full measure the scorn expressed for her race. Yes, an Indian, in whose veins runs the blood of the strongest, the fleetest of the children of the forest, who never turned their backs on friends or enemies, and whose souls have returned to the Great Spirit stainless as they came from him. Think ye that your blood will be corrupted by mingling with this stream?

Long before Magawisca ceased to pour out her indignation, Hope’s first emotion had given place to a burst of tears; she wept aloud, and her broken utterance of "O, my sister! my sister! My dear mother! emitted but imperfect glimpses of the ruined hopes, the bitter feelings that oppressed her.

There was a chord in Magawisea’s heart that needed but the touch of tenderness to respond in harmony; her pride vanished, and her indignation gave place to sympathy. She said in a low, soothing voice, Now do not weep this! your sister is well with us. She is cherished as the bird cherishes her young. The cold winds may not blow on her, nor the fierce sun scorch her, nor a harsh sound ever be spoken to her; she is dear to Mononotto as if his own blood ran in her veins; and Oneco—Oneco worships and serves her as if all good spirits dwelt in her. Oh, she is indeed well with us.

There lies my mother, cried Hope, without seeming to hate heard Magawisca’s consolations; she lost her life in bringing her children to this wild world, to secure them in the fold of Christ. O, God! restore my sister to the Christian family.

And here, said Magawisca, in a voice of deep pathos, here is my mother’s grave; think ye not that the Great Spirit looks down on these sacred spots, where the good and the peaceful rest, with an equal eye? think ye not their children are His children, whether they are gathered in yonder temple where your people worship, or bow to him beneath the green boughs of the forest?

There was certainly something thrilling in Magawisca’s faith, and she now succeeded in riveting Hope’s attention. Listen to me, she said; your sister is of what you call the Christian family. I believe ye have many names in that family. She hath been signed with the cross by a holy father from France; she bows to the crucifix.

Thank God! exclaimed Hope, fervently, for she thought that any Christian faith was better than none.

Perhaps ye are right, said Magawisca, as if she read Hope’s heart; there may be those that need other lights; but to me, the Great Spirit is visible in the life-creating sun. I perceive him in the gentle light of the moon that steals in through the forest boughs. I feel him here, she continued, pressing her hand on her breast, while her face glowed with the enthusiasm of devotion. I feel him in these ever-living, ever-wakeful thoughts—but we waste time. You must see your sister.

When—and where? again demanded Hope.

Before I answer you, you must promise me by this sign, and she pointed to the emblem of her tribe, an eagle, which she had rudely delineated on the post that served as a headstone to her mother’s grave; "you must promise me by the bright host of Heaven, that the door of your lips shall be fast; that none shall know that you have seen me, or are to see me again.

I promise, said Hope, with her characteristic precipitancy.

Then, when five suns have risen and set, I will return with your sister. But hush! she said, suddenly stopping, and turning a suspicious eye towards the thicket of evergreens.

It was but the wind, said Hope, rightly interpreting Magawisca’s quick glance, and the slight inclination of her head.

You would not betray me! said Magawisca, in a voice of mingled assurance and inquiry. Oh, more than ever entered into thy young thoughts hangs upon my safety.

But why any fear for your safety? why not come openly among us? I will get the word of our good governor that you shall come and go in peace. No one ever feared to trust his word.

You know not what you ask.

Indeed I do; but you, Migawisca, know not what you refuse; and why refuse? are you afraid of being treated like a recovered prisoner? Oh, no! every one will delight to honour you, for your very name is dear to all Mr. Fletcher’s friends—most dear to Everell.

Dear to Everell Fletcher! Does he remember me? Is there a place in his heart for an Indian? she demanded, with a blended expression of pride and melancholy.

Yes, yes, Magawisca, indeed is there, replied Hope, for now she thought she had touched the right key. It was but this morning that he said he had a mind to take an Indian guide, and seek you out among the Maquas. Magawisca hid her face in the folds of her mantle, and Hope proceeded with increasing earnestness. There is nothing in the wide world—there is nothing that Everell thinks so good and so noble as you. Oh, if you could but have seen his joy, when, after your parting on that horrid rock, he first heard you was living! He has described you so often and so truly, that the moment I saw you and heard your voice, I said to myself, ‘this is surely Everell’s Magawisca.’

Say no more, Hope Leslie, say no more, exclaimed Magawisca, throwing back the envelope from her face, as if she were ashamed to shelter emotions she ought not to indulge. "I